


Always The Bridesmaid

by darlingdisastrous



Category: The Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Beach Sex, Blow Jobs, Cum Play, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Dressing Room Sex, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Human/Vampire Relationship, Penis In Vagina Sex, Possessive Sex, Public Sex, Riding, Self-Indulgent, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vampire Bites, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdisastrous/pseuds/darlingdisastrous
Relationships: Dwayne (Lost Boys)/Reader, Dwayne (Lost Boys)/You
Kudos: 14





	1. Always The Bridesmaid

Weird thing about vampires—they don’t have a reflection.

Yeah, okay, that’s one of the most common piece of vampire lore; but, what makes it even weirder? Being fucked against a mirror _by_ a vampire.

Your bare breasts press against the cool glass, one hand holding on to the frame while the other grips your boyfriend by the neck.

Dwayne kept one hand over your mouth, preventing any sounds from escaping. It’s not like you’re a banshee in bed or anything like that, but Dwayne knew how to draw the dirtiest sounds from you. He loves that—he loves how he can make you a mewling mess by grinding his cock a certain way, but the two of you _had_ to be quiet.

If you got caught ...

Dwayne fucks you with earnest. He was going quicker than his preferred pace, never fully pulling out, humping your abused cunt raw. He was in _deep_ —deep enough for you to feel him in your stomach.

He wasn’t even supposed to _be_ here. It was a private appointment. You’d mentioned it off hand the other day. Your best friend was getting married and you were one of her bridesmaids. She had planned this appointment for you all months in advance and was making a whole affair out of it; dinner at the local Italian place and then booking it to bridal shop the next town over. She wanted you and the girls to pick out your own dresses instead of forcing you all to wear the same one.

At the time, you hadn’t thought Dwayne was paying attention. He’d been busy skateboarding around the cave, not even stopping to give you a grunt of acknowledgment.

You’d been in the middle of trying on your third dress when he suddenly appeared, and now you were ... _here_.

The mauve dress was bunched around your waist, exposing all of the ‘important part’ as Dwayne so eloquently put it. You’re not sure what it was about the dress that set him off. He’d taken one look at you, and, well ... Now you’re getting your guts rearranged.

Dwayne pulls away from the mirror, dragging you with him. He forces you to lean against his chest and hikes your leg up. In this new position, all you could see in the mirror was your lone figure, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy. But the thing that (shamefully) made you cream was the sight of your cunt stretched out around _nothing_.

He made sure you watched the entire thing, watch as your muscles contracted against him. Watch as you grew wetter and wetter, sticky white strands moving on their own accord.

You moan, pulling on the roots of his hair. Your eyes flutter shut and you let him have his way. You’re going to cum soon. The tension inside of you had been steadily building for the past five minutes. It wouldn’t take much for you to break.

There’s a knock on the dressing room door. You jump. Dwayne tightens his grip on your thigh. It’s a squeeze, a gentle reminder that _he’s got you_ and that he won’t let anything bad happen ... but that doesn’t mean he stops.

A beat of silence.

The knock comes again.

“Y/N?”

_Shit_. It was your best friend— _the bride_. 

Dwayne nuzzles your ear. “You should answer her.”

You glare at where he _should_ be in the mirror. You’d answer her if he’d just _stop_ moving his hips for _two_ _seconds_.

It was wishful thinking.

“Y/N?” she tries again, “Are you okay?”

You pry his hand from your mouth. “Y-Yeah—Yes, I’m okay! I’m just ... _fuck_ , I’m having some trouble with the zipper.”

He thrusts harder, his cockhead pressing against your sweet spot. Your eyes roll, sparks filling your vision. He hits it again and your mouth drops open in a silent moan.

_Oh, fuck, you’re close_.

You squeeze his hand, a noiseless plea to _stop_ —or at least _slow_ _down_. Dwayne’s chest rumbles. _He’s laughing_.

Instead of listening to you, his hand wanders down to your exposed clit. A single finger makes contact, rolling the nub in purposeful circles. Panic shoots down your spine. He’s gonna make you cum when she can _hear_ you?

You smack his arm but he only wraps it tighter. The message is clear: _he’s not stopping anytime soon._

“Oh. Do you need some help?” The door rattles as she leans against it, ready to come in should you give the word.

Thankfully, the door locks from the inside.

Dwayne picks up his speed, fingers matching his torturous pace. You slam your hand against the mirror, rattling the walls.

“ _Shit_ ... No! I—I’ve almost got it.”

“Okay.” She laughs nervously. “Just don’t rip it. Remember, these are just samples.”

Dwayne chuckles and you yank his hair. “I promise I’ll give you a shout if I need you!”

You wait until she’s gone to release the whiny whimper you’ve been holding.

He flattens three fingers against your clit and rubs hard and fast.

You’re thrown over the edge without warning and bite hard lip hard enough to draw blood. Your legs give way underneath you, but Dwayne is quick to catch you.

He captures your chin in between his thumb and forefinger and kisses you. He sucks your injured lip into his mouth, tongue laving over the wound.

He moves lower, kissing down your jaw into the junction of your neck. A quick nip with his blunt teeth cue you in.

“Don’t bite,” you hiss. “This is a— _fuck_ —this is strapless ...! _They’ll see._ ”

“Maybe I want them to see,” he muses. “Your old one is almost healed...”

He licks the spot of your old mark. He’s right. It’s almost completely faded. You can faintly make out the two, circular puncture wounds in the mirror, slightly glossier than the skin around it.

“You can bite me all you want when I get back, just— _mmm_ —not here. I can’t get blood on this dress.” He pistons his hips faster and the frail dressing room walls begin to shake with the force of his thrusts. It’s overstimulating your insides and you could easily cum again. “ _Shit_ , are you close?”

He grunts.

You manage to wiggle out of his arms and drop to your knees. You take him in as far as you can then hollow your cheeks.

Dwayne grunts again, his fingers threading through your hair. It only takes a few harsh sucks on your end before he’s cumming down your throat, seed painting your tongue.

You pull back and swallow, opening to show him your empty mouth as soon as you’re done. It’s a cheap blow—a tease that’s actually an unspoken promise. He might’ve caught you off guard today, but you intended to pay him back in full.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing. There’s a silent warning in his eyes. _You won’t like what happens if you push me._

Oh, you know you would, but you couldn’t. Not right now. Up and disappearing on your bestie would not be a good way to end the night. Plus, you still need to find a dress. Reluctantly, you stand and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You face the mirror and assess the damage: hair mussed to hell, your makeup smudged under the eyes. Thankfully, you kept a few makeup wipes in your purse so you could easily take care of that. The hair ... well, you’d blame it on the fight with the dress.

“Help me with this?” you murmur.

Though you can’t actually see him in the mirror, you can in your periphery. He fixes your bra back into place, taking his time caressing the exposed skin before re-situating the dress.

It _was_ pretty. You suppose you can understand why Dwayne freaked out in the first place. He’s always had a think for your neck being totally exposed.

You cock your head. “What do you think?”

Dwayne pushes your hair to one side and lays a kiss on your nearly-healed bite mark. “Beautiful.”

“Thanks.” You catch his lips in a brief kiss. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He smirks, "You sure will."


	2. Bridal Party of Two

The club’s music was painfully loud, booming through big ass speakers mounted to each corner of the room. The steady, thrumming beat of a sensual pop song pulsed through every patron like a steady heartbeat. Enough to give anyone a headache.

However, the private rooms might as well’ve been in a whole other world. The soundproofed walls blocked out any noise from the outside and kept any noises from getting out.

You straddled Dwayne, skin-tight mini-dress hiked up around your hips. Your panties had been thrown off the moment he got you alone and your bra pushed down to your stomach.

He was torturing you, that bastard. His thick cock was nestled inside your cunt, touching all the right spots, but he wouldn’t move. You _couldn’t_ move. He held you still, using a fraction of his supernatural strength to keep you in place. Asshole.

Thrusting shallowly, Dwayne squeezed your hips, ensuring you’re fully seated on his cock. _Fuck_ , he was big. Taking him like this, you were forced to feel every inch of him. Every movement, every twitch, every roll of the hips was amplified in your pussy.

“Like that?” he murmured.

“ _Fuck_!” You raked your hands down his chest, whimpering. “ _Please_ , Dwayne.”

“What do you want, baby?” He jostled you on his lap. “Use your words.”

“S-Stop teasing.” You try to rock against him, but his firm grip keeps you still. “Just fuck me already, _please_. Need it, bad.”

“Can’t take it anymore?”

You shook your head, teary-eyed. “Need you, Dwayne. Make me feel good, baby, please.”

Dwayne huffed. He removed his hands from your waist, granting you the freedom you desired. “Do it yourself.”

“ _Dwayne_.”

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Don’t whine, princess; do it yourself. You know I’ll help you if you need it.”

You pout but grind against him. Seldom were you ever on top--not that you couldn’t be. In fact, Dwayne liked any time you tried to take control, but riding him was a daunting task. You’d yet to perfect it. Whenever you impaled yourself on his cock, you lost the ability to think. He always hit deep, which guaranteed you’d feel him _all_ _the_ _way_ in your stomach.

You knew he was doing this to be mean. He’d been fine with the strip club thing when you told him a week ago. The Maid of Honor (the bride’s sister) wanted to surprise her sister with a fun little trip to the strip club. She and the groom’s sister paid to rent a portion of it out for your party.

The dancers were a _very_ nice (and nice-looking) group of men ready to embarrass the hell out of your blushing bride. The Maid of Honor made sure the booze were never ending. You were tipsy by the time you were pulled on the stage, preparing to get a lap dance from the friendly fireman ... when you spotted Dwayne.

He stood by the door, arms crossed, glowering. Dwayne didn’t move, eyes locked on yours as the dancer ground on your leg. There was a silent promise in his eyes. _Just wait until I get my hands on you_.

You’d never been more turned on in your entire life.

The other girls thought he was one of the strippers, given his state of dress (or, _un_ dress), and the dancers didn’t question it when he pulled you away. Apparently, when you told Dwayne you were going to a strip club, he thought you’d be watching _female_ dancers.

Dwayne smacked your ass lightly, “C’mon ... Do it like you mean it, princess.”

You rose up halfway before slamming back down. His head kissed a spot inside you that made your toes curl.

Dwayne grunted, digging his fingers into your ass-cheeks. _More_.

You buried your face in his neck, working your hips against him, vaguely recalling all the tips you’d read on the internet about this kind of thing. Swivel your hips. What was the word, again? Coconut? You couldn’t remember, but you did your best. 

“There you go.” Dwayne licked his lips, dragging his hands up and down your ass. “Just like that, baby ... fuck ... Doin’ so good.”

Encouraged by his praise, you went faster, building a steady rhythm. Dwayne rested a hand on your hip for support.

His thumb migrated towards your clit, rubbing tiny circles as encouragement. You cried out for him, unable to hold in your breathy moans and sighs. His cock hit all the right spots, stretching you so good.

Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, Dwayne gave you a lick. His blunt teeth grazed the spot behind your ear, a silent request. Normally, you would’ve chastised him. _You’re_ _in_ _public_ , wearing a low cut of your dress that wouldn’t hide anything, but _God_ you needed it.

Briefly, you weigh the pros and cons. It was dim in the club. Your hair line would cover the mark. Dwayne _could_ be a neat eater if he wanted to be. 

“Please,” you whispered. “ _Please_ , bite me.”

He grunted. The shift was instantaneous, and you felt rather than saw the shift in his bone structure. His fangs scraped your skin before he clamped down on your neck. That was enough to be your undoing.

The pain--which only lasted for a second--mingled with the pleasure had you cumming on his cock. Your hips stuttered to a halt, and you fell limp in his lap, cock throbbing hard inside of you.

Dwayne stood, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He slammed you against the wall. The arousal in your blood sent him into a frenzy, frantically humping your abused cunt until, too, came apart.

He sat you down on your feet, but you were weak from the rough treatment and blood loss. Your knees bowed but Dwayne was quick and caught you before you collapsed.

“How are you supposed to go out there when you can’t stand,” he teased.

“I just need a moment.”

Dwayne hums and kisses your lips. The taste of your blood lingered on his tongue. “Take all the time you need.”

You can’t help but laugh. Of course, he was in no rush to send you back out there. You’re certain, if you let him, he’d carry you out of this joint. No questions asked.

You pull back, tilting your head to look at yourself in the mirror. “How bad does it look?”

Bad. Your eyeliner was smudged due to a mixture of tears and sweat. Your hair was a mess, sticking out in a way that screamed _I JUST GOT FUCKED_. And your neck ... Well, the bite wasn’t visible, but several beads of blood trickled down your neck, heading for your chest. Dwayne dove back in, licking up the offending blood.

“Delicious,” he murmured. He kissed the mark once, twice, then a third time for good measure.

Something wet trickled down your thigh. You swore under your breath. “Should’ve finished in my mouth, babe. I gotta clean up or I’ll be leaking all night--”

“Don’t.” Dwayne fished your underwear off the floor (gross, but you tried not to think about it) and mopped up the spilled cum before slipping them back onto your body.

“Dwayne, that doesn’t help.” You shift, feeling his seed slowly leak, further soiling your panties. “I really gotta clean up.”

“Nah.” He grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes. “Don’t.”

“But--”

“if you can keep it in all night, ‘n not spill a drop ... I’ll give you a treat.”


End file.
